Truth About ForeverWes POV
by Summer Glory
Summary: Oneshot from the book, in Wes' point of view. Just random I thought would be interesting to write. If you want me to write more, just R & R.


**Hola! No, I don't own any of these characters, plots, dialogues, etc. They belong to Sarah Dessen. Anywho, enjoy!**

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. It was one thing for people to be staring at me. I mean, at least I had an idea why they were doing it. But why were they staring at her like that?

"Okay, what's _that_ about?" I asked, keeping my gaze on the group as Macy followed it to them. She lowered her head, tracing a finger around the edge of the plastic cup.

"Well," she said slowly. "I think they're just surprised to see me here."

I felt a smile playing on my lips. "Really."

She nodded, looking up at Kristy through the window. I was happy Kristy was unable to turn Macy into her. Kristy was nice, my friend, but Macy was...Macy. Uncorrupt, collected Macy, with a hint of mystery.

"And they're surprised to see you here because..."

"Wes," I heard someone say. I looked up, nodding at a guy I recognized before he passed by.

"Because," she said, her face full of chagrin. "They think I'm Miss Perfect."

Of course, this was too good of an opportunity to pass up, so I offered up a little playful banter to get her on her good side.

"You?" I said, feigning surprise. She shot me a look. "I mean, ah, I see."

"Shut up," she said. I could almost hear the smile.

"No seriously, this is interesting," I said. And it was. I wondered how different my and the rest of the Wish gang's view of Macy was from the people who knew her in childhood, before her dad died. "Perfect as in..."

"Goody-goody," she said, sitting up straighter as her eyes followed someone in the distance. She turned to look at me, her expression light. "By association. Jason would never be here."

Jason. Of course, I didn't understand what she saw in him. Sometimes, when she talked about her genius boyfriend, I could almost see her question the very question I'd asked her myself in my head. But then again, people wondered what I saw in Becky. There were times I even wondered what I did see in her. I straightened my shoulders, as if this would make these thoughts slide off.

"No?" I asked, focusing my attention back on the subject at hand.

"God, no," she replied, leaning back a little.

I could feel eyes pressing onto me. This is why I hated coming to parties. The whole uncomfortableness. The people thinking they were in love with you just because of your looks. I wasn't a Greek god or anything. That's why I liked hanging out with Macy. She was easygoing, and, though maybe her fun-loving classmates couldn't see it, she was laid-back. I felt comfortable around her. Not brother-sister comfortable, I thought with a shiver. Just enough comfortableness to make our conversations connected. Just enough uncomfortableness to make them exciting.

"Let's say Jason was here now," I said, picturing a guy with bad skin and large glasses ranting in an very nasal voice. Wes, I scolded myself, she probably wasn't being petty about Becky. And I wasn't jealous of Jason. Macy and I are just friends. And what was that I'd just thought about looks? I'm going hypocritical on _myself_.

"Probably complaining about the smoke...And getting very concerned about whether all these cans are going to be recycled properly," she replied nonchalantly as a quick smile darted across her lips, probably picturing it. "What about Becky?"

I pulled a hand through my hair, then inwardly slapped myself, for I knew this bad habit only drew more attention. I heard Kristy laugh loudly, and I recognized it as her in full-flirting mode.

"Passed out some place," I said. "Or behind the bushes sneaking a smoke that she'd deny to me later."

"Ah," said Macy. I seconded this.

"Hi," said someone I hadn't noticed. A girl around my age was passing. I wasn't sure who she was talking to; she looked a little drunk. So I nodded, and let my eyes roll over the party again.

"Honestly," said Macy, her voice directed at me. I turned to her, and she was shaking her head, her expression slightly amused, slightly irritated.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"Come on," she said. "You have to admit it's sort of ridiculous."

"What is?"

She sat up a little straighter. "You know...the sa-woon."  
Sa-woon? Wasn't that what Kristy had said in the clearing days ago? Unfortunately, I was still lost on its meaning.

"The what?"

"Wes, come on," she said accusingly. "Are you seriously not aware of how girls stare at you?"

I rolled my eyes, wishing these girls around here didn't have to be so blatant. It was starting to affect my way of thinking, which was why I'd been a little taken aback when Macy had barely seemed to notice me the first night I'd met her.

"Let's get back to the idea of you being perfect."

She narrowed her eyes before saying, "Seriously. What's it like?"

"Being perfect?" I asked, playing dumb. "I wouldn't know."

She gave a slightly exasperated sigh. "Not being perfect. Being...gorgeous."

Gorgeous? I managed to keep my expression moderately blank. Her expression was naturally unaffected, and I was happy she seemed so comfortable with me. It was hard to find someone you could really have a good conversation with.

"Again. I wouldn't know. You tell me," I said honestly.

"Donneven," she said, mimicking Monica so well I couldn't help but laugh. "We're not talking about me."

"We could be," I suggested. And I wanted to, only, of course, she hated doing that.

"I'm not gorgeous," she said, tilting her head hopelessly, as though I were a lost cause.

"Sure you are," I said, vowing to kill myself later after realizing this didn't sound that convincing.

She shook her head, smiling.

"You have this whole tall, dark stranger thing," she said. "Not to mention the tortured artist bit."

I suppressed a laugh. "Bit?"

"You know what I mean."

I shook my head, rolling my eyes slightly, exasperated. "And you have this whole blonde, cool and collected, perfect smart girl thing going on."  
"You're the boy all the girls want to rebel with," she replied. Her smile was amazing.

"You are the unattainable girl in homeroom who never gives a guy the time of day," I replied, hoping it didn't sound like I'd already fit this description with her.

"I'm not perfect,' she said, ducking her head. "Not even close."  
"I'm not tortured," I replied lightly. "Unless you count this conversation."


End file.
